At Blade's Edge Page 5

  But not all had. Some protected Roth at her expense and she’d never forget it.

  Holding back a snarl, she descended into the Tube station.

  Chapter Four

  When she came downstairs after a nap, it was to find the household jumping, though not to her tune. The sun had gone down, so she’d wager whatever was going on had fangs. Frowning, Rowan headed toward the sounds.

  “Ah, Ms. Summerwaite,” Betchamp said as he caught sight of her. “You have a guest.”

  “Why do you look panicked about that?”

  He tried not to smile, which made Rowan more nervous. “Do I need my blade?”

  Before he could answer, a woman barreled into the hall cooing Betchamp’s name. With one look at the hair and eyes, Rowan knew this was Clive’s mother. Shit.

  Brigid stirred in Rowan’s belly, ready to be called if necessary. But if she had to call on the Goddess, she would be waving a white flag. To a Vampire.

  And that wasn’t going to happen.

  This wasn’t just any ordinary Vampire. This was Clive’s mother. Rowan wanted there to be no acrimony between them. Could admit, deep down, that she wanted them to accept her.

  More than that, she wanted them to think she was a good choice for their son.

  Rowan had given thought to how she’d act when introduced to Clive’s family. She wouldn’t show her wrist, where she bore her familial mark of service to the Vampire Nation. Betchamp had one on his neck. One he showed when he’d met her. Just a slight tip of his head to expose it. His way of telling her he was in her service too.

  But Rowan wasn’t in service to anyone, most certainly not her husband’s family. She would approach Antonia Stewart as an equal. Power to power.

  Spine straight, smile revealing just the right amount of teeth to be strong but not too aggressive, Rowan kept her chin perfectly level, not more deference than she should show, not one bit less.

  “I am Rowan Summerwaite. It is my honor to welcome you to my home. Be at ease.” Once Rowan had finished the official stuff, she tipped her chin ever so slightly. Daughter to mother, as befitting their first in-person meeting.

  “Antonia Stewart.”

  Wow.

  Rowan had not expected this level of fucking perky from her new relation. Her name came from Antonia’s lips in what was nearly a squeal of delight.

  Her mother-in-law just really, truly squealed.

  Face a smooth, pleasant mask as she recoiled inside, Rowan drew a centering breath and that’s when the perfume slammed into her senses.

  The final kick to the crotch was when Antonia giggled and launched herself in Rowan’s direction, linking arms, leaning in conspiratorially. “We’re going to be such great friends! I can just feel it.”

  Her voice managed to sugar its way from a coo to a high-pitched baby voice at least three times every sentence. So many exclamations it was like a preschool classroom.

  She wore fuschia. With big black buttons and a wide black belt at the waist. Shoulder pads matched the distinct volume of her hair. The pants were...well a damned tragedy, that’s what they were. Banana yellow, though the fabric and construction were clearly designer made.

  Pink and yellow.

  No fucking way could this be Clive’s mother. Her uptight, stick-up-his-very-fine-butt Scion who ironed his underpants could not have dropped from this. In fact Rowan found it hard to imagine this woman dealing with anything as painful or messy as childbirth.

  Clive’s mother.

  She repeated that to herself until she was able to find a smile somewhere inside and sucked it up. Just a few hours and she could disappear.

  She reminded herself that Antonia would be unable to pester her for at least half the day. There were perks to this Vampire gig when it came to living with one.

  Clive was due to arrive in London that next day so she’d throw his body into Antonia’s line of sight and run once she could. Rowan had to manage Theo, the least Clive could do was keep this Pomeranian in heels away from her.

  Antonia clapped her hands. “Come come! Get dressed. We’ve dinner reservations and then shopping to do.” She looked Rowan over critically. “If you don’t have anything appropriate I’m sure we can work something out.”

  This from a woman who looked like the 1980s threw up all over her. Clive clearly got his sense of fashion from his father.

  Rowan looked to Betchamp, who looked studiously at a spot to the left of Rowan’s face. There’d be no help from that quarter.

  “Uh. I should work. I’m on a case right now. Clive is due tomorrow round about midnight. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to see you.”

  Antonia kept a vise grip on Rowan’s arm. “But you’re our new daughter-in-law. Don’t you want to get to know us?”

  “I expect that will take some time. Fortunately Vampires have it.” Rowan’s bright smile was met by a look of steely determination.

  This woman was going to make Rowan shop, she could feel it.

  “I’ll wait right here for you to change and get your face on.” Antonia gave Rowan that bright, vapid blink once more. “Unless you’d like some assistance.”

  Rowan managed a quick shake of her head before she ran back upstairs to change. Clothes had been laid out on the bed and she made a mental note to reward Elisabeth when she got back.

  She’d have a glass of wine with their dinner. Hopefully Brigid would allow Rowan a little buzz, enough of one to keep from causing an international incident within the Vampire Nation. Even Vampires looked askance when a body staked their mother-in-law.

  On her way back down, she caught up with David and told him to coordinate with both Carey and Susan’s valet. She hoped to be back before too very long, but she didn’t want anyone counting on it.

  Taking a deep breath, she grabbed her handbag, deciding to leave her blade at the house, and headed toward Antonia.

  Which is how she found herself loaded into a car with a driver. In a uniform, so maybe she was Clive’s mother after all.

  “We’ll go to Penceweather first. Then we have dinner reservations. You don’t eat blood, I take it?” Penceweather sounded like a restaurant, but apparently not.

  “I prefer human type food.” Generic enough, yet it should keep her safe and reasonably fed.

  “Fine, fine. You’d be far more powerful if you took blood from Clive.” Antonia’s eyes hardened a moment, sending Rowan’s spidey senses askew.

  She supposed they didn’t know her more than the gossip and whatever Clive told them about her. Getting to know Antonia and Charles Stewart was bound to have some rough patches.

  And of course they would see her not taking blood from Clive as an insult, when it was nothing at all of the sort. By that point anyway.

  Rowan bit her tongue and pretended not to watch the time.

  Antonia gave up her silence in a few breaths. Unfortunately. “This restaurant has two Michelin stars and a very easygoing way with Vampire clientele. The finest bloodwine in London. I’m sure they’ll give us a wonderful table. We’ll need to rest after Penceweather!”

  Okay then.

  “Madam Stewart, we’ve arrived. Are you ready to go inside?” the driver asked.

  “Yes, that’s fine.”

  The car stopped at the curb where more dudes in uniforms rushed over to help them out. Like it was hard to get out of a car.

  Penceweather turned out to be a very exclusive residence in a sprawling, parklike neighborhood of mansions, each as impressive as the next.

  Chamber music played as they entered the main foyer of the house. A birdlike woman with a Prince Valiant haircut and a slash of purple lipstick sneered at them as she approached.

  “Yselda, darling. So lovely to see you. I’ve brought Clive’s...lady with me. Perhaps some new clothes can help.” Anto
nia gave Rowan a smile that said she doubted it.

  Yselda opened her mouth to say something, but apparently changed her mind, shaking her head and turning on her heel. “Come along then. Everyone is upstairs.”

  Up a marble and mahogany staircase, they were led into a wide-open ballroom, the Georgian design still maintained and in pristine shape.

  It was only after she’d taken in the details of the wood that Rowan noticed the racks. Of clothes. Surrounded by women.

  Female Vampires, to be more specific. Rowan only barely stifled the urge to curl her lip at the sheer volume of chit chat about clothes. And clothing colors. And what everyone else wore.

  So many shrieks and giggles and air kisses, so much god-awful perfume and the stench of very old blood running through those bluest of veins that Rowan considered faking an illness of some sort.

  Yselda had gone her own way once they’d reached the ballroom, but once she began to circulate, heads began to turn toward Rowan and Antonia.

  “I suppose they’ll know who you are. Do you have calling cards?” Antonia asked her as they walked over to a rack of vintage Pucci.

  “Calling cards?”

  “Yes.” Antonia stared some more. “Your name, your contact information? You give it to acquaintances when you visit or meet?”

  Like in historical novels? She couldn’t say that though because even Rowan knew it was dumb to call your mother-in-law old even though she was thirty years older than Clive and he was proud of his age.

  So she went with, “No. I’m sure they’ll remember my name if they need to.” And as she was the Hunter, the Vessel and a main squeeze of a Scion, they’d fucking remember all right.

  “Will you be taking the family name?”

  Rowan linked her arm through Antonia’s and circled her over to a rack away from the other Vampires. “Please remember they can’t know about the marriage,” she said in barely more than a breath.

  “Well why not? Are you ashamed?” Antonia asked, a hurt little trill at the end that brought Rowan’s hands into fists just for a moment.

  “I’m sure you know why not. The First has not officially announced the mating yet.”

  “He’s not going to know.”

  Rowan let herself snort, got some satisfaction from the start it gave Antonia. Normally she might let it go on long enough to watch Theo maim a dumb bitch for something like this.

  She reminded herself that Clive would be sad if his mother got killed. And Theo was not in any sort of state of mind where this could end in any other way but execution. She might let herself get dragged to look at expensive dresses and eat watercress, but now was the time she needed to be absolutely implacable.

  She drew a purple dress from a nearby rack and looked it over as she kept herself between Antonia and anyone else.

  Rowan made sure she spoke clearly and firmly. “I’m going to know. Which means he’ll know. We won’t be violating the Nation’s time honored traditions, even in a moment of happiness.”

  Antonia huffed. “It was just a bit of fun,” she said, channeling a sullen little girl.

  Rowan hated it when Vampires pulled that shit. Always manipulating, pretending to be helpless.

  Rowan pasted on a smile and indicated the clothing. “Were you looking for something in particular?”

  On the way toward the gaggle of female Vampires who reminded Rowan of whippets, she said quietly, “It’s fine they know I’m with Clive. That isn’t a secret. They know I’m the Hunter as well.”

  “Isn’t this divine!” Antonia grabbed a dress from the hands of the designer who’d been about to hang it once more. She shoved it in Rowan’s direction so fast it was all one big fluffy pink blur that nearly took her eye out. “Neon’s back and I couldn’t be more thrilled!”

  Maybe the sullen thing was better than the baby voice and perky cheer.

  The tag on the monstrosity said twelve thousand pounds. What the fucking fuck? Who would ever spend that sort of money on a neon pink mermaid gown with a frothy thing at the waist?

  “Uh, sure. Your color.” Rowan handed it back.

  Antonia gave one of her trilling laughs. Again. Rowan felt naked without the sword she usually wore at her back. It was good she left it home because every time Rowan heard that laugh she wanted to pull it.

  Rowan didn’t show any of that on her face. There was no way she planned to give quarter. Not even to her mother-in-law. After that little tussle they had when first arriving, the subtle battle of the wills had sharpened. Neither wanted to give insult, not just yet anyway. But they were both acutely aware of the other.

  Antonia shook her head, sending her fluffy caramel hair into artful disarray for a moment before it fell into place once more. “No for you! Redheads should wear pink more often, don’t you think?” She blinked up at Rowan.

  Nope. As much as she loved her husband’s dick, she wasn’t going down this road where she allowed herself to be dressed up as if she were a doll.

  Rowan managed to keep her lips smiling and not sneering. “I’m afraid it’s not very flattering on me. I stick to blues and greens and even some red.” Normally she just tended to wear jeans or other comfortable clothing for fighting and fieldwork.

  This sort of party wear usually had no real place in her life. Except now it did because she was Clive’s fucking wife and he was a Scion of the Vampire Nation. Ugh. Ugh!

  And his mother, Goddess above. Rowan was fairly certain the woman’s closet was full of shoulder pads and peplums and shoes dyed to match. Rowan didn’t usually judge. Ha! Lies. She totally judged. All the time. But usually if a person dug whatever style they rocked, Rowan could get behind that.

  Vampires got imprinted on time periods. It happened all the time. They had their own trends, just like humans did. But they also had a lot of weirdos among their ranks so it wasn’t that unusual for some hundred-year-old Vamp living like every day was 1977 or whatever.

  Antonia clearly loved the mid 1980s if the bright pink St. Laurent jacket and trousers were any indication.

  She moved past Antonia to a simply cut white sheath. Also 1980s, this one Calvin Klein. “This is more my style.” Long enough to allow her knives at her thigh. A slit that would allow ease of movement if she had to run or fight. Not so severe she’d show any of her bits.

  Antonia paused as she looked the dress over and there was the briefest moment of appreciation before the pretty shrug. “Maybe Clive can buy you something shiny to wear with it. So it’s not plain.”

  Her lips formed the word as if there was nothing worse to be.

  Clive did have a penchant for buying her sparkly things. Usually accompanying something deadly. He’d figured that out pretty fast, the sneaky bastard. He got off on spoiling her. Being taken care of like that was startling. It made her nervous but he just worked on ways to delight her until he figured her out.

  He was good at that too. Figuring her out and buying her things like it was his job.

  Startling, yes. But she liked it. Liked that he knew her and stayed anyway. Moreover, he loved her sharp and barbed parts as much, if not more, than the softer stuff.

  Falling in love had been one thing, but staying there and building something with this male who shared her life was what Rowan needed to steel her spine and continue shopping with his chirpy-ass mother.

  He’d given her an amber-and-ruby armband in the shape of a dragon right before he’d gone back to Las Vegas. It would look perfect with the dress she’d already decided to buy.

  “Is there always vintage here as well as new?” Rowan asked Antonia as they left. The driver took their packages and then got them in the car.

  Rowan allowed it because he did a good job and kept Antonia protected as he did it.

  “A mix. It depends on who is attending. We like new designers too.”

 
They could just shop at stores like humans, but where would the fun be in that?

  She nodded and they headed to dinner, where they fawned over Antonia so much Rowan found her appetite dimming at how ridiculous it all was.

  Antonia Stewart was everything Rowan hated about Vampires. Pretentious. Fake. Obsessed with outward appearance.

  She soaked up the attention, though to Rowan that dangerous dance on the edge when it came to humans knowing about Vampires was foolhardy.

  “Is everything meeting with your expectations?” the server asked Rowan with a frown at her mostly untouched food.

  Normally, Rowan would have answered that question totally honestly and taken great joy in watching all that obsequiousness fall away.

  But dinner with your new mother-in-law wasn’t a normally type situation so she used manners instead.

  “I’m fine, thank you. Just not as hungry as I’d thought.”

  “You really should make an effort. People see and they talk.” Antonia sipped her bloodwine, watching Rowan over the rim of her glass.

  She wasn’t dumb.

  Rowan thought a while about how to reply.

  “Have I upset you? I apologize.” Antonia’s smile was fake as fake could be and Rowan didn’t stop the way she leaned back and took Antonia in.

  “I have limits, Mrs. Stewart.”

  Rowan let Antonia see past the polite mask to the predator lurking below polite society manners. Just a brief moment, but long enough to make her point.

  “I’ve heard.”

  Fucking Vampires and their bullshit. All she’d wanted was some fish and chips with mushy peas while she read over whatever data had gathered while she’d slept. A cider along with that.

  But she got roped into some endlessly complicated power display while she’d had to shop and eat a rather lovely lamb instead of her fish. For company she had this creature instead of people she actually liked. For Vampires this was considered proper dinner behavior.

  And she wasn’t wearing yoga pants.

  “Is there some topic of conversation you’d like to touch on?” Rowan let her tone go a little cool, enough to reassert her dominance. No way would she let this woman out-Vampire her.